


we'll always return

by ZOMBIEDOG



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Other, i had an idea and nobody to stop me, if you have eyes and are literate thats a you problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-23 23:37:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20898002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZOMBIEDOG/pseuds/ZOMBIEDOG
Summary: first came the stag, then the coyote, and finally the wolf





	we'll always return

First came the stag.

On a soft night of contemplation under the stars, your mind drifted to the memories of the Van Der Linde gang, of what was and what could've been. Friends becoming enemies, family becoming strangers. The slow deterioration of what used to be home, the corroding madness that corrupted Dutch becoming more and more obvious every night you looked into those once-familiar eyes. And the last time you looked into those eyes, the night you fled, you didn't see anything familiar there, you only saw greed and sin and hatred. It made you think that maybe you didn't truly know Dutch, you only saw what he wanted you to see, he was never holy and righteous, he was always a shadow of the man he claimed to be.

Arthur was your out, as he often was. He'd whisked you away into the forest, your horse awaiting you at the bottom of the path, and with a kiss and goodbye, you left the Van Der Linde gang with Arthur Morgan's blessing, with his love and hope that maybe God would have mercy on you. And in the end, he did. You were one of few to survive the hellish days that were the last of the gang. Word had reached you of Arthur's final sacrifice, and as much as it hurt, you had to give respects to the man who truly saved you in the end, the one you loved so selflessly. You buried him there, letting him watch the sunrise every morning from the mountains, to watch over the world he so loved. And as you left him to rest, a stag followed you.

The stag was beautiful, without a doubt. Dusty golden fur, ivory antlers that looked so intricate as if crafted by every angel in heaven, and those eyes so familiar and haunting. Perhaps it was your mind being cruel, but you felt deep in your heart this was Arthur, back as one of the things he loved most. It hurt, in a twisted way, that he wasn't resting as he so deserved, but it soothed you to know he was never far. Often, as you would tend to your little garden, he would delicately step closer, just close enough to brush against you before laying down in one of the small patches of sun, those haunting eyes watching your every move as the sun would dance across his fur. He was beautiful and perfect, everything he could never see as a man, everything you whispered to him late at night when you got to hold him close.

Everywhere you went, the stag was never far behind, always your shadow and a peaceful observer. And it was when the cold settled in, you decided to be a fool and invite him in, and as he lay by the fireplace allowing his fur to thaw and warm, you slowly reached a hand out to run it through that dusty golden fur. The stag allowed it, even seeming to shift and move to press into your gentle touch. You almost cried when you felt a scar, a bullet scar, on the right shoulder. It seems that the soul doesn't forget, especially something so cowardly and hateful. But as the two of you laid by the fire, you felt sleep seep into your bones, and as you lay there by the dying fire, you felt the stag shuffle closer, sharing his warmth as the cold night set in, but the cold didn't touch either of you that night. Because Arthur was there to keep it at bay. Because Arthur was by your side.

Then came the coyote.

A warm summers night with Arthur by your side, looking for answers amongst the stars, you heard the lone cry of a coyote. It was haunting and familiar, just in the way Arthur was, but somehow this was different. Your beautiful stag slowly left your side, gliding into the forest like a ghost, and emerging from the brush with the same coyote who sang such a mournful song. Somehow, with just one look, you knew this was Javier. You'd not heard much of him after you left, but you always hoped and prayed that he could finally return home, to say goodbye to his mother proper, to return to the place that called so strongly to him. But to see him here, practically a shadow of the man you once knew, it hurt. What had been done to him? How cruel had the world been to him his final days?

It took the better part of a year for Javier to trust you, to lay so peacefully by your side as Arthur did. But you knew trust was something earned, and it wasn't always the easiest, especially with the history you all shared. The first time he let you touch him was the same night he sang for you. His beautiful mastery of the guitar had inspired you to learn, and though you were nowhere near his skilled playing, you could still play a melody if the mood struck. And on a night where the moon was shining brightest and the soft chirping of the cicadas filled the air, you held the guitar carefully in your lap before playing a few nonsensical notes. Notes to a story not yet written or known, one about to be born on such a beautiful night as this, a song without words. But then Javier lifted his muzzle towards the sky and with a few warbled notes, he began to croon and howl as you continued the melody.

You could feel his sorrows and heartache, his pain so strong it was almost suffocating, but you didn't stop playing. You continued to play until Javier could only croak out a few warbled notes. And then, only then, you set the guitar aside and watched him. Those trade-mark scars you recognized, and they brought back memories of the two of you sitting by the camp-fire, sharing nonsensical stories and making up the history behind your scars. It was a tradition between the two of you, one well cherished and one you'd missed in Beaver Hollow. With the descent of your family, he'd grown distant and relied more on moonshine than company. But you never blamed him, and only wished you could've been there for him more, but hindsight is a hell of a thing and would only bring pain. But he was here now, with you and Arthur, and you had a second chance to make things right. And you would. Slowly and perhaps with a song at a time, but you wouldn't leave him this time. Because Javier deserved love and devotion, perhaps one you could give him.

And finally, came the wolf.

The word of John's death reached you before he did, and oh what a sight he made. Ragged and gray fur over a haggard form, he almost made you cry. And it seemed that time and age made him sweeter, but it still hurt to see him in such a way. You briefly wandered about Jack and Abigail, did they make it out? Did Abigail leave John? You had questions but it wasn't your place to ask, so you didn't. You noticed how Javier avoided John and it hurt a bit, but you understood that life could be cruel, especially to outlaws such as yourselves. There was a special place in hell for the things you did, but they'd been given a second chance, and it was more than you could ask for. To see your family again, if only the three of them, was more of a blessing than you could ask for. And as John would creep closer until his head was resting in your lap and those familiar eyes glanced up at you, you knew you'd never give this away, not for anything.

There were times where John could be standoff-ish and contemplative, and there were times where he was a second shadow. He was never in the same room as Javier (at least intentionally), to hear him softly grumble along when Javier would sing his own words to the melody you'd created together would warm your heart. It brought back memories of when all of you would be gathered around the camp-fire, Arthur wrapped up in your arms with Javier singing with a cheeky grin on his lips as John would drunkenly stumble by every now and then. And the rare times when Arthur would perhaps lend his own voice to the song, those were the best. As a man or stag, his voice was soft yet commanding. Javier's was always lovely and they complimented each other well, and the one time John joined in, it was your own personal heaven.

And in a way, this _was_ your personal heaven. The three of them here again, with you, living in relative peace without an angry Dutch, enemy gangs, or Pinkertons breathing down your backs and chasing you from every temporary home, you were safe and so were they. They were here, with you, and every day you counted yourself lucky when you would wake to the (now familiar) Javier's fur in your arms with John at your back, Arthur more often than not acting as a pillow, or guarding the end of the bed. You could only hope that when it was your time to go, you would return to them as well, maybe as a bird so you could fly endlessly and feel the wind under your wings. You knew that when you left, you wouldn't leave with any regrets, especially with your boys at your side. And maybe in another life, you would be able to hold them close and love them, just like the old times. But for now, you would be content, and you would love them as they were, because they were here with you and thats all that mattered in the end.

And when the day came, and you earned your wings, you would perch yourself on Arthur's antlers as he would run through the forest with John and Javier at his side, all of you together at long last. And you could never ask for anything more.


End file.
